


Weaponized Whimsy

by CynSyn



Series: Sozzled in Soho [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Drunken Flirting, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, M/M, Please Don't Copy to Other Sites, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Softie Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 21:07:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19912213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/CynSyn
Summary: Aziraphale is soft and sweet, and Crowley knows what buttons to push.OrAziraphale is very much over this topic.-------------Aziraphale sighed. “You are, quite literally, sitting inside of my bookshop. My collection of words. My garden of descriptions. My jurisdiction of fiction. I don’t come to your flat and tell you how to glue coins to the floor. I preside over this domain. I know what I’m talking about.”“Do you?”“Indeed. And I also know what I’m not talking about.”





	Weaponized Whimsy

**Post Apocanot:**

“I’ve been thinking about painting.” Crowley said, his eyes tracing along the walls of the bookshop.

“Oh, that’s a marvelous idea,” Aziraphale beamed. “I don’t know for certain in what way you mean, but I’m sure whatever you’re considering will be quite lovely.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do _you_ mean?”

“Angel, don’t confuse me, please.”

“Well, if you must know, I didn’t know whether or not you meant painting an object in need of repair or applying pigment to canvas.”

“Oh. The second one. Humans tend to look for hobbies in their retirement. I’ve always enjoyed art. I thought I might consider giving it a try myself.”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up to 11. “How exciting! I simply cannot wait to see your work. Would you allow me to hang one in the bookshop?”

“I haven’t done it yet, Angel. I haven’t even really _decided_ that I was going to do it yet. It’s just talk for now.”

“Still, I’m certain it’s all going to turn out quite lovely.”

“You are a whimsical old thing, aren’t you?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You’re just so positively supportive of practically anything I say.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You are. You’re a lovely little tea cozy. Warm and fitting. Comforting? Comfortable? Maybe that’s the word. Well, they’re both words, really.”

“They _are_ words,” Aziraphale admitted as if that were some novel concept.

“Words, yeah.”

“I have a lot of words.”

“Wherever do you keep them?” Crowley drawled.

“In books, Crowley. This is a bookshop.”

“Right.”

“It is!”

“But you don’t ever _sell_ anything. How would anyone ever know?”

“My dear, it says so… on… on the sign! _A.Z. FELL AND CO. Antiquarian and Unusual Books._ ”

“What’s the ‘Co’ stand for?”

Aziraphale paused to take a sip before answering. “It’s just a ‘Co,’ really.”

“Really?” Crowley grinned.

“Best not to test it.”

“Hmm.” Crowley stared, unblinking, unspeaking. He might have resembled a statue if statues were known to gently sway side to side while the ice clinked around in their glass.

After a companionable silence, Aziraphale changed out the selection on the phonograph. He refilled their glasses and sat back down in his chair. “What were we talking about?”

“Dolphins?”

“ _NO_!” the angel bellowed.

“Fine. Non-leggy mammalian wet boys.”

“That’s the same thing said in a different way.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“How do _you_ know?”

“Bookshop. Inside.” He pointed at Crowley as he said the next words. “You are.” He pointed to himself. “Mine.”

Crowley’s eyebrows raised in an amused grin.

Aziraphale sighed. “You are, quite literally, sitting inside of _my_ bookshop. My collection of words. My garden of descriptions. My jurisdiction of fiction. I don’t come to your flat and tell you how to glue coins to the floor. I _preside_ over this domain. I _know_ what I’m talking about.”

“Do you?”

“Indeed. And I also know what I’m _not_ talking about.”

“But---”

He rose to his feet with all the tentative grace and wobbling awe of his current iteration of a somewhat pickled Principality. Quite deliberately, and rather impressively, given his current lack of tangible sobriety, his voice lowered, just enough to still those who wished to hear it. “My dear, if you continue that sentence, I will bless the ice in your drink.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“It wasn’t meant to be nice. It was meant as a warning.”

“Oh, yeah, no, uh, right, a warning, is it?” The demon sputtered

“Indeed,” the angel said, nonchalantly.

“And just what do you think you’re gonna do about it, then, Angel?” He hopped up to stand in front of Aziraphale before swanning about the room dramatically. “Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Principality of Earth! Giver awayer of the Flaming Sword to the Comfort of Those Cast Out!”

Aziraphale just watched him, glowering.

The demon continued, spinning around a beam as if it were a maypole. “Co-Conspirator and Bringer Abouter of Appo- Oppop- Opposipocalypse! Rebel of Angels! Thwarter of Demons, Gifted _Charmer_ of _Wily Old Serpents_!”

Aziraphale scoffed and settled back down into his chair.

Crowley’s hands reached out to gesture to all of the angel. “Champion of Old and Dusty Books! Knower of A Great Bloody Number of _Words_! Brave Ser Knight of the Brunch Table! Patron Saint of All Things _Tartan_!”

“Tartan is stylish. Are you quite finished?”

“Nope,” he replied, popping the p as he spoke the word, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. “Actually, I can’t recall what I w’s gon’ say next. But that doesn’t mean I’m done.”

“Well, my dear,” he said quietly, “now that you’ve waxed poetic about how soft I am, perhaps it’s part of God’s Plan that your point is---"

“Are you going to say, _ineffable_?”

“Are you going to say _dolphin_?” He countered, eyes narrowing as the sudden calm stillness in his voice reverberated through the room as much as if it had been a shout.

The demon paused briefly, considering. He jutted out his bottom lip and slowly shook his head. Properly cowed, considerably less mulish, and possibly a little sheepish, he ducked back down to his seat.

The angel cut his eyes to the side, grinning as a slight blush crept across his cheeks. “That’s what I thought.”

Had Aziraphale been looking, he might have noticed the proud grin across Crowley’s face as the demon endearingly watched the blush spread across his own.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Weaponized Whimsy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229343) by [ExMarks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExMarks/pseuds/ExMarks)




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